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Further Invol(e)vement

By Cardie-ologist

Dr. Venem and Haran emerged from Odo's Dahkur home office after a two hour testing and evaluation session. Hearing the door open, Odo stopped pacing the length of the living room and met them coming down the hall. Kira, weighed down with the twins who were due to be born in only three weeks, was content to remain seated on the verandah with her feet propped up.

Odo was relieved that Haran had allowed Dr. Venem to take her hand and to see that the potentially stressful interview had produced none of the tell tale gestures of face and body that signaled an imminent outburst to her watchful parents. The doctor's face also seemed to indicate that things had gone well.

"Did you have a nice talk with Dr. Venem, Haran?" he inquired.

"She asked too many questions," said his never anything but candid daughter.

"But Haran gave me some very good answers," Dr. Venem hurried to interject.

"Did you, sweetheart? I'm glad. It must have been boring all cooped up in there on such a beautiful day. Why don't you run and play in the garden."

Haran gave him a look. Could Daddy have forgotten how much she liked to be cooped up in rooms, as long as there weren't nosy people in them bothering her? Daddy looked right back, in the way that said "All right" was going to be the only acceptable response. She dutifully gave it and headed outside with scant enthusiasm.

"Come, sit with us on the porch, Dr. Venem," Odo said. "Kira and I are most eager to hear your take on Haran's condition. May I get you anything to drink?"

"A ginger tea would be nice."

Odo brought in the tea from the kitchen and stood behind Kira's chair. "I know you probably think we've been totally irresponsible not asking any therapists to evaluate her these past two years," he began apologetically.

"Considering the miracle you two have accomplished with Haran, without benefit of medical intervention, I'm surprised you're even letting me near her now."

"You agree that it's a miracle, that we're not just fooling ourselves into thinking that she's almost normal now?" Kira put in.

Dr. Venem chose her words carefully. "I don't think we want to start talking about normal or abnormal here. The physical and emotional abuse of Haran's past will leave lasting effects. There's a great possibility that she will be sexually dysfunctional. I'd say the odds of her abusing any children she might have are about eight in ten," She paused for just a minute, then went on rapidly at the sight of their grave expressions.

"On the other hand, I think there's no doubt that she'll be able to function in the greater galaxy. You can probably put her in a regular secondary school on Bajor, when she's old enough. I'm also encouraged that she's up to the 40th percentile in weight for her height and age. You seem to have solved the problem of self starvation."

"Well, she does eat heartily now in private, on her own schedule. We still can't get her to take more than a few ritual bites when we all sit down at the table together. And whenever we urge her not to hold back, she says, 'Daddy doesn't have to eat, so why should I?'" Kira replied.

"Yes, I suppose a life form that doesn't require regular consumption of nutrients isn't the greatest role model for a child with pronounced anorexic tendencies," said Dr. Venem with a laugh that was cut short when she saw the spasm of guilt cross Odo's face. "I'm sorry, Odo. That was thoughtless of me. You have to know that in every other way you were the only possible father Haran could have had. Until you came along, we were sure that she'd be institutionalized for life. And now I can definitely see her making a positive contribution to Bajor in some way. It would be preferable if her social skills index weren't still in the bottom decile, but I don't think that outspokenness and aggression necessarily disqualify a woman for a career."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped me," Kira grinned.

"Nor me," Dr. Venem responded with a reciprocal grin.

"You said that her social skills are still poor, doctor. We were prepared for that," Odo interposed. "How did she score on the other tests?"

"Quite good news there. She's at the top of the scale in reading and analytical skills, performing at five years beyond her age group."

"We've been very fortunate with her individualized instruction on the station. Our Terran friend Keiko O'Brien works with her on science and math. The O'Briens' daughter Molly is Haran's age, and they study together," said Kira.

"So she does have a friend her own age?"

"Actually, they've never quite clicked, but Haran is extremely fond of Molly's little brother Yoshi. He trails around after her like a puppy. I only wish she got along so well with her own brother," Kira sighed.

"Yes, doctor," Odo broke in. "That's the primary reason we wanted you to evaluate Haran now. She's still terribly jealous of Notar, and we can't always stop her hurting him. And, with the twins coming . . . We've been seriously concerned about their safety."

"I don't quite know how to put this, but are these twins Bajoran?"

"Technically only one of them is " Odo began, but Kira put a silencing hand on his arm.

"Yes, the twins are Bajoran," she responded firmly.

"Then I don't think you have anything to worry about. Haran's impulses to placate Bajorans and strike out at hybrids aren't as pronounced as they used to be, but they're still there. She's not jealous of her brother; she just can't completely stop seeing him as a lizard leaving. When she sees the 'good bumps' on these babies, on the other hand, she'll probably do everything to please them. You'd want to proceed cautiously, of course, but I'd venture to say that you could even trust her to babysit her new brother and sister once they're a year or two old."

"I'd certainly want to proceed very cautiously on that score," said Odo skeptically.

"You have to understand that Haran's still filled with rage, she'll probably always be filled with it. As she's stopped directing it at herself, it's had to go somewhere. Unfortunately Notar seems to be the prime target. I'm afraid I couldn't get her to say a good word about him. You need to look for other outlets to help her manage her anger."

"Quark, the bartender on the station, did outfit a holosuite for her that he says is a battle scenario appropriate for a child Haran's age. She does seem a lot calmer when she's played there." Kira replied thoughtfully.

"And those Ferengi toys she's supposedly market testing for Quark all seem to be based on a principle of aggressive competition," Odo sniffed derisively. "If only he didn't think he had to tutor her on creative accounting."

"Ah, that's why she told me that the word problems were all wrong, because everyone knows that word problems are all supposed to begin 'Imagine that you needed to obtain a certain quantity of latinum.'" None of them could refrain from laughing. At length, Dr. Venem continued, "However unorthodox her schooling may have been, it's certainly been effective. But I knew, even when she was back at the Institute, that a best case scenario for Haran could produce these kinds of test scores in the areas of reading and analysis.. What has totally amazed me is the progress in her oral skills. They're completely at age level. I didn't catch a syllable of what I used to call the 'Haran dialect' of northern Bajoran."

"For that credit goes to our dear friend Ziyal. For that and so much else. When we moved back to DS9, we'd failed to consider that there was no way we could put Haran in any of the group child care facilities on the station that we were considering for Notar. If Ziyal hadn't volunteered to keep her all the time we were on duty, I don't know what would have happened. And because Ziyal is also a hybrid, she was able to get Haran to open up about her feelings in ways we never could," said Kira.

"Of course, she may have gone overboard on that score," Odo added. "As I'm sure you noticed, Haran is now more than eager to tell everyone precisely how she feels about them."

"And poor Ziyal had to endure so much abuse from her there at the beginning," Kira went on, "She was an absolute angel to persevere . . ."

***

Ziyal could barely allow Odo and Kira a day to settle in before she was at their door bearing still more gifts for Notar and Haran. She had been sending little drawings for their rooms, darling outfits designed by her husband, and PADDs of children's stories from all around the galaxy on practically every cargo transport that had left the station for Bajor during the past six months. In return, she had been sent countless holo images of the children, and had spoken briefly to each on the comm channel. Yet that was nothing like what it would be finally to see them in the flesh.

Kira took two chimes before she called out, "Come in." Ziyal found her hip deep in packing materials, among which Notar was waddling, making delighted squealing sounds every time an insul pak went "pop." She was still wearing civilian clothes and was looking very disheveled. Nevertheless, she greeted her visitor with a warm and sincere embrace. "Ziyal, it's wonderful to see you again. But don't tell me you've brought more presents."

Ziyal blushed a little. "They're just some welcome home gifts, nothing really. And I've baked some kava cookies."

"Cookies? I want, I want," Notar cried out excitedly.

"Here, let me take the packages while you feed Notar his cookies," said Kira.

Ziyal offered the plate to the little boy, who, with lightning speed, grabbed a cookie in each hand. She picked him up and held him in her arms as he munched happily. "He's so darling, Nerys," she cooed.

"And easy on the nerves as long as you keep him fed. Of course, Haran on the other hand . . ."

"Where is she?"

"She's in her room. I'm not sure you want to confront her just yet. We've been doing remarkably well on Bajor, with just the four of us, but the trip to the station, and all the strangers here, have been a bit unsettling for her. We'll probably just keep her in our quarters for a few days. Odo's already been called back to Security, but Captain Sisko thinks he can spare me another week. What we'll do with her then, I don't know."

"Of course you do. I'll be happy to stay with her. Elim lets me help in the shop, but he really doesn't need me there. I can work on my paintings in your quarters as well as ours."

"That's kind of you, Ziyal, but it's not a good idea. I've told you how hostile Haran is to other hybrids."

"Well, that's clearly something she needs to get over," said Ziyal brightly.

Kira shook her head. She'd long known that logic never dissuaded Ziyal from going after what she wanted. "Why don't you come talk to her briefly, and you'll see what I mean."

"Good. I'm dying to meet her."

Kira knocked on Haran's door. "Haran, someone wants to see you. It's your Auntie Ziyal, who sent you all the beautiful storybooks." There was, of course, no answer; Kira hadn't expected one. She keyed in the lock code, but motioned to Ziyal to stand just inside of the door when it opened.

Haran was working at her computer, and only looked up when her mother said, "Haran, say hello to Auntie Ziyal."

The disgusted expression on her face said everything that soon followed from her mouth. "A dirty, bad lizard leaving. GO WAY." Kira looked helplessly at Ziyal.

"I don't think that's right, Haran," the younger woman replied. "I'm your Auntie Ziyal."

"BIG, dirty lizard leaving," Haran amended. "Good B'joran make go way." And then she turned back to her keyboard as if they weren't even there.

They returned to the living room. Kira made them some raktajino, and they split the remaining two cookies that Notar had not yet managed to get into his mouth. "So you see," Kira said. "There's no way you can mind her when we're at work."

"Just because she calls me names? That's absurd, Nerys. She and I will get along just fine, once we've had a little time together."

"Not everything turns out just because you want it to, Ziyal," Kira responded gently.

"Nerys, if I could get Father to take me home to Cardasssia, and Elim to marry me, and Father finally to agree to come have supper with us next week, I think I can cope with your Haran," Ziyal countered with a grin.

"You may have a point," Kira admitted.

***

For the first week that Kira went back on duty, Ziyal drew and painted in their spare room while Haran did her lessons at the computer in her bedroom. Ziyal greeted her when she came and said good bye when she left, always earning the response that she was a dirty, bad lizard leaving and ought to go away. But Odo and Kira had said that the best way to deal with Haran was to leave her alone and let her come to you, and eventually that happened.

The little girl had come out of her room to get some water from the replicator when the sight of Ziyal's colorful paints spread out on a table top caught her eye. She tiptoed into the room and tapped Ziyal on the shoulder, causing the young woman to jump nearly out of her chair. Haran recoiled from the sudden movement, but when Ziyal said, "I'm sorry Haran, it's only that you frightened me," the child approached again and asked, "What those, lizard leaving?" Ziyal continued with her work and didn't respond. "Haran say WHAT THOSE, LIZARD LEAVING?" the child repeated with growing impatience.

Ziyal turned around and took both Haran's hands in hers, looking her squarely in the eye. "Listen, Haran, my name is not 'lizard leaving,' and I'm not going to answer any questions you have for such a person."

The child withdrew her hands and pointed accusingly at Ziyal's forehead and neckbones. "Mommy Cardie whore, Daddy spoon head scum. Bad dirty lizard leaving," she said in the tones of someone patiently trying to explain the obvious to a listener of extremely limited mental capacity.

"No, Haran, my mother was a kind, beautiful Bajoran woman, who loved my father, a proud and brave Cardassian soldier. I am their hybrid daughter, and my name is Ziyal."

"All bad bumps dirty lizard leavings, ALL lizard leavings Mommy Cardie whore, Daddy spoon head scum." Haran protested.

"No, they aren't. That's not true."

Haran played her trump card. "B'joran say true."

"Yes, some Bajorans do say unkind things about hybrids, and about Cardassians." Ziyal cringed mentally at what most Bajorans said about her father. "But in my case, and yours, they're just wrong."

The child's mouth dropped open at this unimaginable blasphemy. She shook Ziyal's arm vigorously, shouting with frantic urgency, "No say! No say B'joran wrong!" She broke off her grip and ran into the hall, peering around right and left, as if she feared that vengeful Bajorans might be lurking anywhere. When she re entered, she put her hand back on Ziyal's arm, while the other rubbed at her eye ridges, and reiterated, somewhat more calmly, "No say. Mean B'joran hurt lizard leavings."

Ziyal recognized that the little girl's fears were very real to her, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. "All right. I'll be careful what I say. This will just be our secret. But I still will not answer to 'lizard leaving,' Haran. My name is Ziyal, and I'll be happy to tell you all about my paintings when you do me the courtesy of using it. It's not a very hard name to learn, after all."

Haran plopped herself down in the far corner of the room and pouted for a quarter hour. Ziyal returned to her painting. At last, the child, with a great deal of exaggerated reluctance, tapped her on the shoulder again and asked "What that . . . Zee all?"

Ziyal smiled a very small smile of triumph, put her arm around Haran's shoulder, and told her how one mixed colors, and applied them to paper, and made pretty things, information the child absorbed with silent but intense interest. When Ziyal had finished, Haran broke and ran to her room, returning a few seconds later with the folder containing Kai Winn's homilies. "See, Kai Winn make Haran pretties," she boasted as she showed Ziyal the letters, one by one.

After duly praising the Kai's artistry, Ziyal had an inspiration. "So you do use Kai Winn's name, Haran?"

"Kai Winn special."

"Everyone is special. That's why everyone has their own name. And I'm very surprised you knew the Kai's name. I didn't think that bad, dirty lizard leavings could be so clever."

"Haran bad, dirty lizard leaving, not dummy lizard leaving," the child shot back.

Ziyal suppressed her laughter. "I see. But I'll bet you don't know the names of the people who live here with you."

"Haran know."

"I don't think so."

"Names O-do, Nare-ees, dirty lizard leaving No-tar," Haran asserted smugly.

"Good. Odo, Nerys, and just plain Notar. Well, then, don't you think it's time you used their names? It's only fair, since they call you Haran."

Haran considered this logic for a long time. "Maybe call names, Zee-all."

"It will make Odo and Nerys very happy, I'm sure," Ziyal replied, noting with satisfaction that the suggestion of making her parents happy brought a definite smile to Haran's face.

And that evening, when Kira came in the door, Haran greeted her eagerly, saying, "Nare-ees come home. Soon O-do and just plain Notar, too!" Kira hugged Haran tightly, and set her on her lap, but the child immediately wriggled down. "Zee-all make Haran pretties, Haran get," she announced, heading off to the spare room.

"Ziyal, you have to be much sterner with me when I underestimate you," Kira said with a smile as soon as Haran was gone.

Ziyal returned the smile but then spoke with unusual seriousness, "You know, when you try to see the best in everyone and want to make them give up fighting and hating, people always think you're silly and weak. I've never understood that. But weak people don't survive six years in a Breen mining camp, do they Nerys?" As Haran came back into the room, Ziyal's manner reverted to its usual sunny enthusiasm. "Now let's show Nerys that flower you liked so much, Haran."

***

After that Ziyal and Haran coexisted peacefully, although the child still spent much of her time in her room concentrating on her lessons, and when she did join Ziyal, she often preferred to sit silently and watch the artist at work. Ziyal attempted to give Haran some drawing instructions, but the little girl grew easily frustrated if a design wasn't turning out right, leading to mounds of wadded up sheets of paper and overturned art supplies. Ziyal had to admit that the child showed little promise as an artist anyway and eventually conceded defeat on that score. So now, in her third month as child care provider, Ziyal frequently found herself working unobserved while Haran, sharing her physical space, was mentally far away, absorbed in a game or storybook PADD.

A particularly intricate abstract was stubbornly refusing to come into focus, and Ziyal almost felt like doing some paper wadding and paint overturning herself. Instead, she got up from her easel and went to get some tea. Sipping it as she walked, she came over behind Haran and idly looked over her shoulder. "Oh, I don't know that story, Haran. What's it about?"

"Poor rab't throwed way. But nice Fairy change. From old Earth. O'Brines give."

"Ah. Would you like for me to read it aloud to you? I'm not feeling much like painting anymore today."

"Haran know read," the child responded in that particular tone of outraged indignation she always used if people implied that she wasn't as smart as they were.

"Of course you can read, Haran. But sometimes stories take on a whole new life when someone reads them to you. My mommy used to read to me for hours when I was little."

Haran pondered the request further, then handed the PADD over to Ziyal without comment.

"All right. Let's see. I'll start from here," Ziyal said, pointing to a place on the screen.

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby."

"I suppose you are Real?" said--

"No, no, not right," Haran broke in. "'But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.'"

"What did you say, Haran?" Ziyal asked, stunned. She had certainly never heard a sentence of such eloquence from Haran before.

"Zee-all leave out part," Haran explained, "part that come after 'very shabby.'" She went to her friend's side and pointed to the lines on the screen that Ziyal's eyes had skipped over.

Like all the other adults who knew the child, Ziyal had always assumed that when Haran read formal prose, something in her mind rendered it into the peculiar syntax that she spoke. Now, Ziyal realized, if standard Bajoran remained a foreign language to Haran, it was a foreign language in which she had considerable fluency.

"You know, Haran," she said carefully, "I'm not doing a very good job of this. Could you read the rest of the story aloud to me?"

Haran snatched back the PADD eagerly, and, in a voice filled with pride, took up where Ziyal had left off. "I suppose you are Real," said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive . . ." And she proceeded to read flawlessly and with considerable expressiveness all the way to the end.

***

". . . and from then on, Ziyal had Haran read aloud to her for at least an hour every day. Then she suggested to Haran that it might be fun to try to talk the way that this or that favorite character talked. And she would selectively correct Haran's departures from standard speech, and after a while Haran began correcting herself," said Kira. "It must have taken, oh, well over a year, wasn't it, Odo? But one day we were listening to her and realized that she didn't speak any differently from anyone else."

Dr. Venem, having reviewed the notes of five very frustrated speech therapists who had worked with Haran over the years on Bajor, chuckled, "So art triumphs where science failed?"

"I suppose you could say that," Odo replied. "But Nerys was right. It's mostly Ziyal's triumph."

"She is so wonderful with children," Kira added. "Thank the Prophets she and Garak finally have a son of their own now."

"Well, it's very generous of you to give all the credit to her, but I can tell you that no one else but you and Odo are responsible for how secure Haran feels in your love."

"She told you that?" Odo asked incredulously.

"Not in so many words. But it's behind her answers to dozens of questions on the psychological profile. Do you have any idea how you were able to convince her that your love for her was real?"

"Again, we'd have to credit outside help," Kira said, "help from a seemingly unlikely source, although we should have realized immediately that it would be the only way to make Haran understand what love for your children is all about."

"And to think that we'd have missed the opportunity altogether," Odo put in, "if only Haran hadn't insisted on having a bat'leth for her birthday . . ."

***

"Sit down," Odo said gruffly as Quark entered his office.

"I swear to you I didn't know that those transducers had been hijacked from that Liseppian freighter," the Ferengi began.

"Oh, forget about the latest in your long line of imported goods with questionable sources. I need your help with something."

Quark struck his ear vigorously, "My lobes must be infected. I thought you said that you needed my help."

"Don't gloat," Odo growled, "or I'll inventory the contents of your storage lockers on Cargo Bay six. I need you to do something for Haran."

"The holosuite programs and the 127 different toys aren't enough? The 248th Rule of Acquisition does state that gifts to the children of the incorruptible may garner advantage where bribes fail, but there are limits."

Odo made an exasperated noise and for the first time looked at the Ferengi directly. "We're planning a birthday party for her in two weeks. It's a very delicate matter. We have no idea when she was born, or even how old she is. When she was found in that ditch, the medical scans could only place her age at between four and a half and six. The malnutrition and isolation obviously retarded her development, but the doctors couldn't be sure how severely. Even Dr. Bashir's latest readings aren't much more conclusive. We were going to avoid the issue for a while, but Molly, and Yoshi, and Notar have all had birthdays in the last six months, and she keeps asking us when hers will be. So we've decided on the date when she was rescued, and we're going to settle on eight for her age. But it's very important that the day go well, and there's already been a major problem."

"As if problems were new where Haran is concerned?"

Odo ignored the barb. "It seems that Dax and Worf have been letting her watch their Klingon martial arts exercises, and now she's absolutely obsessed with having a bat'leth for a birthday present. Clearly that's not going to happen."

"Right," said Quark appreciatively. "The first thing she'd do with it is decapitate her brother."

"Of course, she might not be getting all these violent ideas if you didn't let her into adults only holosuites," said Odo accusingly. He was determined to put himself into Quark's debt as ill temperedly as possible.

"Hey, don't blame me. It's that stick of a Klingon who fills her head full of garbage about death with honor and entering Stov'okor. Not to mention Garak, and all his blood curdling tales about the brave little tailor's adventures in the kingdom of the ogres."

"We've already spoken to Garak about-- Say, how do you know what stories Haran's been hearing?"

"Oh, she hangs around the bar swapping tales with Morn from time to time. That child has one bloodthirsty imagination, let me tell you."

Yes, she does, Odo thought. It was understandable, but still worrisome. "At any rate, we've already had three highly destructive tantrums about the no bat'leth decision, so I want to get her a really special present in its place. It's just that the . . .uh ... product isn't easy to obtain."

The Ferengi's eyes got wide. "Constable, you want me to smuggle contraband onto the station for you?"

"I never said that," Odo harrumphed.

"Didn't have to. What is it?"

"Uh, of all your contacts on Cardassia, have you ever come across any dealers in domesticated voles?"

"For fighting, or for racing?"

"No, of course not. For pets."

"You're planning to give your daughter a pet vole? What's wrong with a cat or a talking bird?"

"It's a complicated story. But it has to be a vole."

Quark shook his head. "Let me do a little research and get back to you."

The Ferengi was back in only an hour. "All right. There is a select market on Cardassia for pet voles. They're bred to be smaller, only about 12 centimeters length on average, and less aggressive. Because of their herding instinct, the dealers only sell them in pairs. I can get you a pedigreed set for only 20 strips of latinum." He displayed a PADD that contained pictures of ten pairs the breeder had in stock.

"And how much less are the Cardassians selling them for?"

"Odo, you wound me. Would I try to profit from that dear little girl's unhappiness? I'm selling them to you at cost. With only a very small handling fee."

"I'm sure," the Constable replied with scorn.

"And for only ten strips more, they'll send a bag of premium vole feed, and the formula for programming it into your replicator."

"Voles have been known to thrive on nothing but the crumbs caught in replicator filters," Odo sniffed. "I doubt we need expensive food."

"These are purebred animals, not conduit infesting vermin," responded Quark indignantly. "Don't you want the best for your daughter's pets?"

"All right," Odo surrendered. "I think I'd like these two, the black one and the blue and white one. And the premium food formula."

"Done," said Quark, holding out the PADD for Odo's thumb print. "You do know that there's a 500 credit fine for bringing voles onto the station."

"If I catch you at it, I'll pay the fine myself," Odo growled, wondering just how long, and for what purposes, Quark would use this transaction to blackmail him.

***

The birthday party came off without notable disasters. True, Haran was rather overwhelmed by all the people, even though they had tried to limit the guest list: Ziyal and Garak, Keiko with Molly and Yoshi, and Quark, using his new found leverage to wheedle an invitation. Odo held Haran on his lap, keeping a good grip on both her hands unless they were occupied in opening a present, glad that as a Changeling he wouldn't have bruised shins from the little feet that nervously kicked at him as each present was offered. It was an impressive haul a garden of miniature trees native to Bajor, Cardassia and Earth from the O'Briens; three exquisitely framed drawings from Auntie Ziyal; a dozen new, high necked outfits from Garak; a complete run of Marauder Moe action figures from Quark. Kai Winn had sent a beautiful copper prayer mandala. After all the presents were opened, and Haran sat wide eyed and silent, Odo prompted her, "And what do you say about all these lovely things, Haran?"

"Thanks everyone for nice for the nice presents," she said shyly, as she had been laboriously coached to do for the past three days.

"And now," announced Kira, "Time for something to eat."

Garak had insisted on bringing a special larish pie that was the traditional Cardassian birthday delicacy. To Kira and Odo's objections, he responded sharply, "It will not kill that child to have some acquaintance with her Cardassian heritage." They had grudgingly agreed, provided he served the yamok sauce on the side. Haran, they knew, would hardly eat anything, no matter where it came from. And indeed she took about three bites, while Notar had three slices. "Yummy pie, Uncle Elim. Got more?" her brother inquired.

"Not if the others are to have some," the chef replied, "And it's just Garak, my boy. I prefer your sister's appellation of 'spoonhead scum' to being anyone's Uncle Elim."

The guests didn't stay long, as everyone could see that Haran's level of agitation was increasing with every passing minute. Kira and Odo hurried to clean up the dishes and put the presents away, gratified that Haran and Notar were playing together without noticeable violence amongst the many Marauder Moes.

An hour after the guests had left, and they had put Notar down for a nap, her parents each took Haran by the hand and led her to her bedroom. "Nerys and I have saved our very special present for last," Odo said.

On her bed was a meter square cage holding the two smuggled voles. Haran gasped with pleasure and curiosity, "More shifter voles, Odo?"

"No, sweetheart, these are real voles."

"Voles no go 'way?"

"No. They'll be here whenever you want to see them. Let me bring one out for you to hold. But be careful; you can't squeeze them quite so tightly as you do Mr. Vole."

He placed the black one in Haran's hands, and she patted it gently, then squealed with delight as it licked her face. "Oh, nice voles, nice voles," she exclaimed, and, looking up at her parents, said, "Best Haran present ever."

***

It soon became apparent that a meter square cage was not Haran's conception of an ideal vole environment. She let them have the run of her room constantly; there had been several escapes into the ventilation conduits, and, when the animals weren't sleeping in Haran's bed, they were curled up in her replicator. Finally her parents put their collective feet down and accepted Miles O'Brien's offer to design an extensive vole run that traversed all four walls, sometimes in gentle curves, sometimes in sharp perpendiculars. It was equipped with various cunningly engineered wheels, slides, and mazes for the animals' amusement. At several points there were glove boxes that allowed Haran to cuddle the animals without removing them from the run.

When they thanked Chief O'Brien profusely, he brushed it off, saying, "It'll save me a lot more work in the long run, should one of them get pregnant and have the babies in some conduit or the other. We'd have a full fledged infestation in no time. Those rodents breed like tribbles."

"Oh, that won't happen," Odo assured him. "Quark tells me that these two are definitely of the same sex, although he wasn't quite sure what sex that was."

"Hah! I've dealt with many a vole in my time, and I can tell you that you can only establish what sex a vole is by dissecting it. I'd wager the odds are 50-50 you'll have baby voles soon. So I'd advise you not to let those creatures run loose."

The Chief turned out to be right. One month after her birthday, Haran's blue and white vole gave birth to six babies, all of whom the child insisted on naming, collectively, "the Harans." She spent hours tending to the brood, cleaning the run several times daily, replenishing the food and water dispensers the second their levels dipped even a millimeter. As a result, all eight voles rapidly grew obscenely plump. "Voles fatter than Notar," she bragged.

Despite repeated stern warnings about care in taking any voles from the run, Haran was still sleeping with them. But Kira and Odo couldn't bring themselves to banish the animals from her bed, because ever since the first night they had slept with her, the nightmares had stopped.

Every evening before she went to bed, Haran insisted that Odo and Kira inspect the vole run, as she explained her pets' activities for the day. On a day when the baby voles had just been weaned, she embarked on a long disquisition about their new feeding habits, then, sighing contentedly, added as a coda, "See, Daddy vole bring - brings - food for Harans from the feeder, and Mommy vole makes a nice mash for Harans because Mommy and Daddy vole love baby Harans so."

"Yes, your voles are very good parents," Odo said.

"Odo and Nerys love Haran?" She'd made the question one of her conversational rituals. Her parents replied, somewhat wearily, as they always did, "Yes, Haran, you are our daughter and we love you very much." Wearily, because the final response of the ritual was inevitably the same as it had been that first time: "No, nobody love Haran."

Today, however, the response did not come automatically. Instead she looked at them both thoughtfully, then, in a very small voice, repeated her question as a statement, "Odo and Nerys love Haran."

"That's right, sweetheart, we love you because you are our baby Haran," Kira responded eagerly, as they both knelt and caressed her. The child screwed up her face with concentration, as if trying to puzzle out the ultimate solution to one of her games. At length, she lit up with a delighted amazement. "Daddy," she said, putting her hand on Odo's chest, "and Mommy," here she stroked Kira's cheek, and then, placing both hands over her brow ridges, exclaimed "love me!" And Haran's mommy and daddy gathered her into a tighter embrace than ever she had visited upon Mr. Vole.

***

". . . of course, she wiggled out of our arms almost immediately, looking profoundly embarrassed," Kira sighed.

"And there's never been any further mention of our loving her," Odo added. "It goes without saying that she's never indicated explicitly that she loves us."

"It must be hard for you," Dr. Venem acknowledged. "You have to realize how vulnerable it makes Haran feel to accept and return your love. She's still terrified that it's all going to be taken away from her. But I have no doubt whatsoever that she loves you just as deeply as you love her, even if she doesn't dare show it."

"It's not as if declaring our love for each other has ever been very easy in this family," Kira reflected. Odo suddenly made the noise of throat clearing with exaggerated emphasis. Venem looked up and saw that Haran had appeared at the entrance to the porch and was leaning against the door jamb, with her right leg crossed over her left and kicking absently at it.

"I played," the child said dispassionately, as one hand began rubbing her spoon.

Odo and Kira recognized the danger signs at once. Haran had always had a very limited tolerance for the great outdoors. They surmised that it might be a result of those harrowing days she had spent in the countryside beyond Fiseneth, with cold and hunger her only companions. At any rate, she had often told them that she liked living on Deep Space 9 because "there's no outside there."

"That's good. Do you want to go to your room now, or would you like to come sit with us?" her mother asked.

It took Haran several minutes of unspeaking contemplation and rapidly accelerated door jamb kicking before she finally came into the room and perched expectantly on the ottoman at Kira's feet. This action did little, however, to break the awkward silence until Dr. Venem took charge, as it was her wont to do. "So, Haran, your parents tell me you're going to have a new sister and a new brother," she began.

Haran put her hand on Kira's stomach. "They're in there, but only two. When my voles have babies, they have lots. One time the mommy vole had eleven."

"That's very impressive," the doctor replied.

Haran was clearly pleased to have discovered a new audience for her vole tales. She began to speak more rapidly and with greater emotion, "But I never get to keep more than one of the babies from each litter. Mommy and Daddy make me give the rest away. They're so mean."

"Haran," Odo said in a warning tone, "We've explained to you how impossible it would be to have all the babies with you. And you know we only send them to very good homes."

"On Cardassia!" the child shot back, her tone clearly expressing the enormity of the offense.

"The voles are native to Cardassia," Odo continued patiently. "The children there love them very much, too, and the voles are happy to be in their homeland."

Haran did not dignify this with a response but went on with recounting parental wrongs against her pets, "If the one vole I get to keep is a mommy, it can only have one litter before it has to have an OPERATION."

"Don't forget to tell the doctor that we always get you a new vole from the breeder whenever the mommy vole is at the vet," Kira prompted.

"Quark says that's only because you don't want the babies to have two heads." Haran had always thought that a two headed vole would be quite interesting to have.

"Quark is hardly an expert on biology," Odo said, giving Haran a disapproving glance.

She ignored it and continued her litany, "And I'm allowed to keep just two voles on the station. The rest have to stay here with Mrs. Beku."

"That hardly seems fair," Dr. Venem responded, but with a wink at Odo and Kira. "Just how many do stay here?"

"Only twenty three!"

"I see," Dr. Venem answered solemnly, trying very hard not to laugh at Haran's indignation, and at the sheepish expressions on her parents' faces at this revelation of just how far they had in fact gone to accommodate their daughter's obsession.

Haran got up and approached the doctor shyly. "You could come look at my voles, if you like," she said, offering her hand.

Venem grasped it heartily. "I'd like that very much. I'd be honored."

Haran was prattling merrily as they went down the hall to her room, "The vole run has five levels and twenty feeding stations and right now there are three litters of new babies and--" Abruptly the child stopped walking and talking, and hung her head.

"And what else, Haran?" Venem asked, kneeling down to the girl's height.

"Nothing." She scuffed at the floor as one hand shot up to her forehead. The doctor grabbed both hands firmly and looked her in the face.

"Is something wrong, Haran? You can tell me."

Haran chewed at her lower lip, which was beginning to quiver. "Mommy and Daddy aren't really mean," she said at last.

"No, they're not. I'm glad you realize that, Haran."

Haran looked furtively up and down the hall, then bent her head and whispered in Venem's ear, "I love Mommy and Daddy so much it scares me."

The doctor tousled the soft, dark curls. "I know, Haran, I know."